Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

Stitches

Posted: February 21, 2015 in Poems, The Troubled Scribe's Scribbles, Writings

I’ve got stitches on my mind

And guitar strings in my hands

But I don’t think these sutures

Will keep these infected thoughts from breaking free

 

I’ve got a life time of memories

And blurry dreams filled with crystal screams

What happened to those forgotten faces

What happened to those eternal nights

 

What happened to the sounds that I loved

What happened to those flashing lights

Sweat bodies jumping, crashing into me

I swear I’ll stitch you all back up, back up inside of me

 

One night, one stage, a thrown off shoe

One band, one voice, and a bag of weed

I’ll sew these pieces hole again

So tight that the world can’t see

 

What happened to the sounds that I loved

What happened to those flashing lights

Sweat bodies jumping, crashing into me

I swear I’ll stitch you all back up, back up inside of me

 

I’ve got one last bottle in an empty parking lot

And a mind full of silver thread

I’ll cut out all sense of ignominy

And stitch myself of properly

 

What happened to the sounds that I loved

What happened to those flashing lights

Sweat bodies jumping, crashing into me

I swear I’ll stitch you all back up, back up inside of me

 

No more remorse, no more shame

Just the sounds that I love and these flashing lights

Thousands of bodies, pressed up all around us

So tight that we can’t breath

Stitching together in harmony

Dinning Out

Posted: November 19, 2014 in Poems, The Troubled Scribe's Scribbles

Gourmet food, chicken fried rice, and a medium steak.

An empty wine cup teeters on the table ledge.

Screams and shouts, upturned chairs.

Except for mine.

Bullets spray, glass shatters. Freeze.

The soy sauce never tasted so good.

Crimson splash, blood or wine? Freeze.

Still no movement.

“Get on the ground.” Freeze.

“Get out your money.” Freeze.

More gun shots and screams.

Blood not wine.

No watching him grow up.

No more laughter and smiles.

No more holding her hand.

No longer aging, no longer…

The bullet never missed.

Only their faces circling.

I don’t want to forget them.

I don’t want to leave them.

Flayed

Posted: November 16, 2014 in Poems, The Troubled Scribe's Scribbles
Cut off my fingers and toes, then feed them to the crows.
They watched as I beat my bloody stumps against the concrete block and still they wouldn’t budge.
They would just sit on plaid lawn chairs continuing to talk.
They peeled the skin from my bones and nailed it on the living room wall in their home.
All the guests will point and laugh at the flaws exposed.
They will sew me back up, innards and all, that they kept in warm jars.
Then we’ll hold hands in public and hug, everyone will laugh and smile because the world loves drugs.
After the show they’ll drag me back behind closed doors,  stab me in the kidneys and flay me once more.
This world has become one big lie, in which liars and cheats seem to revel in the sky.
As us poor beggars crawl in our filth, for being polite and staying in line.
I’d rather be flayed alive.

Toilet Bowl Cats

Posted: April 18, 2014 in Poems
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It all started with a slight nudge and ended with a black out

The couch was my companion, my solace inside the raging party

That and the half drank beer, clasped firmly in my hand

I can’t even remember whose couch it was, but I remember that nudge

 

“It is our turn drunk ass, get up man, let’s play!”

The game was calling me, I dare not make it wait

One shot, two shot, three shots, ah I loved making shots

But I enjoyed drinking just as much

 

Hours and hours we played and won

Game after game, it would never be done

Finally we lost, laughing and spilling

Then I snuck out, I needed relieving

 

I stumbled, I stared, I breathed in the cold frothy air

I blinked and I rubbed my eyes, but the shock wouldn’t clear

Toilets, so many toilets, I couldn’t count them all in my inebriated state

But I picked the best one, and let it all fly

 

Beer, vodka, and only god knows what else

And that is when they appeared, a squadron of cats

They swarmed me on the ground and nearly knocked me over

First toilets, now cats, my mind was surely dissolving

 

Then that nudge came and I heard the game calling once again

“Stop puking you drunk ass, it is our turn again, let’s go!”

The urination stopped, “These toilets are fucking amazing! And Cats too what the fuck?”

The zipper signaled the end and together we crashed game after game

 

It was a night that will never end and I’m not even sure if it was real

But somewhere out there is the mysterious land of toilet bowls and cats

I hope I might find it again

CoverIndifference So I have been musing around the idea for sometime about putting together a collection of all my favorite dark and demented free verse poems and pieces that I’ve scribbled down in the past few years. Finally, I’ve crossed that great divide and self published them, here is the result: Indifference For Emotion: Layers Beneath The Mask.

I’m pretty happy with the product I produced and man, what a path it was to create the cover, format the ebook, and all that other jazz. It was a much more strenuous tasked than I could have imagined and I’ve garnered a new respect, for those who do this as their full-time jobs, it isn’t as easy as simply pressing “publish”.

The cover image is actually a photo I took from my local Sandhill State Park, in Kansas. I run there a lot and it is a fantastic spot to go clear your mind and breathe the fresh air. (Only con is all the damn bloodsucking ticks, watch out for them as they will literally swarm you)

I wasn’t looking for anything fancy, just a way to add some professionalism and posterity to my poems, some of which the penciled words were literally fading away into the pages I had written them on. Thirty-four pieces of screamingly sad, dark, depressed, and horror laced works, that when I initially felt these emotions I portrayed no outward sign of any such feelings, but later when they became too much to hold inside I took to releasing these demons with pen and paper.

A friend of mine, R.A. Kennedy, who runs the blog Sleepless Musings Of A Well Groomed Moustached Man, was kind enough to take an interested in my works and had this to say about them:

“A plethora of emotion, and one thing I loved about them is that they’re 100% authentic emotions, and that is something you can’t fake, many have tried. I tried picking a favourite, but then the list grew.  I think you have something really good here, it captures a lot of things many people feel. Also, they reminded me of Metal lyrics mainly for some of the dark content and many were very lyrical in their construction, which I like”

I absolutely love his kind words and can’t thank him enough for being one of the first few to read this collection in its entirety.

In short, Indifference For Emotion: Layers Beneath The Mask, is a collection of my inner pain and angst. I find it ironic to put such a price on it as $0.99 cents, for that can never quantify the things I went through in order for this collection to become a reality.

 

 

 

My Life On A Fishing Line

Posted: April 5, 2014 in Poems

I’m drowning in a barrel full of false hopes
that’s floating away in a sea of eternal dreams
I’m like a blind man, but lost in life
I couldn’t find my way home, If I knew braille.
 
A desert filled with buried treasures has my full attention
A desk littered with past due bills might as well not exist
The preacher man declared me a sinner and told me to repent
I’d rip off my shirt and let the infinite light cleanse
 
Yet somewhere in the middle, Halfway between that barrel and treasure
I skipped a beat and stumbled
Those hundred dollar bills came with an eviction
That preacher man brought his coven bearing canes
 
I’m drowning in my own vomit of wild turkey and hash
The lights are flickering on and off inside
There is no fight, no direction, no hope
This way surely isn’t home and I’ve finally hit the end of the line

 

Frailty of Life

Posted: April 2, 2014 in Poems

There is nothing like a child
One that falls asleep on your chest
Your progeny, your soul, your life
You dare to breath, don’t wake them

You feel their lungs rise and fall
The blessed beating of their heart
Skin so soft, scent so fresh
Nothing compares to having kids

You were once an individual
Now you evolved into much more
Your life has metamorphed for good
Into something profound and wonderous

In an unquestioning blink of the eye,
You would give your life for them
Their frailty, innocence, and love
There is nothing like a child